Out of Sight

by Paul Gitsham

  She bit her lip. ‘I suppose you need to know this. Anish told me about it a couple of dates in. He was always very honest with me.’

  Warren waited.

  ‘After his mum died, Anish’s father became obsessed with passing on his legacy. He rewrote his will to insist that his children could only inherit, if – at the time of his death – they were married, with children.’ She shook her head, a flash of anger crossing her face. ‘It was so cruel. He was basically saying that either Anish had to “give up being gay” or he was no longer his son.’

  Warren contemplated her carefully, as he took a long sip of his water. Luthra had just confirmed that she knew that if she married Anish and bore his child, she would be marrying into wealth. That might call into question her motives for marrying him, but it would have made it less, not more, likely for her to have killed him – at least before they were married.

  Aware that he was about to risk revealing sensitive information that it wasn’t his business to disclose, he decided it was time to shift the focus of the interview slightly.

  ‘Were you familiar with the circumstances of Anish’s mother’s death?’ asked Warren.

  Luthra took another sip of her coffee before answering. ‘If you mean, am I aware that Anish had inherited the same gene that killed his mother, yes I am.’

  Warren waited.

  ‘I’d be lying if I said it didn’t worry me, but he assured me he was receiving medical treatment, and that there was no reason he couldn’t live a long and healthy life.’

  ‘And what about your future plans?’ asked Warren carefully, unsure how much Anish had disclosed.

  Luthra cleared her throat; the colour that had tinted her cheeks a few moments before returning. ‘We weren’t planning on having a baby the traditional way anyway. There is a company in the US that offers genetic tests for Anish’s disorder. I was going to take one. If I don’t carry the faulty gene myself, we were going to proceed with IVF on the NHS.’

  ‘And if you do carry the gene?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Then we would discuss our options. The company will do pre-implantation genetic screening to ensure that none of the embryos that they implant will develop the disease.’

  She looked down at the table again. Warren wasn’t sure what to make of the woman in front of him. She was choosing to go through all of that to have a child with Anish. Warren had no reason to doubt that she wanted a baby for all of the right reasons, yet if all she wanted was a child and a man to pose as her loving husband, surely she could have waited for a better offer? Even as he thought it, Warren felt slightly ashamed at being so judgemental, but he pushed that aside. He needed to look at the situation dispassionately. Luthra was young enough to wait a few more years – longer even, given that she was planning on using IVF – so what was so special about Anish Patel?

  Was she really that desperate for his inheritance? Warren’s gut told him otherwise. From what she’d told him, and the look of genuine sadness and upset in her eyes, he felt that the relationship was not just transactional. He thought back to what she’d said. Latika and Anish may not have desired a sexual relationship, but it looked as though Luthra at least was looking for a loving partnership.

  ‘I don’t want to be indelicate, but those sorts of services don’t come cheap,’ said Warren.

  Luthra sighed. ‘I was going to pay. When my father died, he left my mother some money. It’ll be passed on to my sister and me eventually anyway, because Mum won’t spend it. The plan was that when we got married, I’d tell Mum that I was having problems having a baby and ask her for the money. Then, when Gotam passed away, we’d pay her back through Anish’s inheritance.’

  Put like that, it suddenly seemed a little more business-like. And raised another question.

  ‘Is your sister aware of your … situation?’

  ‘Yes. Shyama is two years younger than me – married at nineteen to a very suitable man of course.’ Her mouth twisted slightly. ‘To be fair to her, she’s always been accepting of me. She told me that she’d had her suspicions from when we were young, but she knew for certain when she visited me at university.’

  ‘And what did she think about Anish?’

  Luthra picked up her coffee cup again, although Warren noted that it had been drained some time ago.

  Eventually, Luthra spoke. ‘She was … unconvinced.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Shyama has always been a bit more forthright. I guess that’s the privilege of being the younger sibling. She thinks I should just tell Mum that I’m gay and be done with it; there’ll be tears and shouting, but eventually, Mum’ll see sense,’ Luthra snorted. ‘Easy to say when you don’t live in the same house.’

  ‘And what about the baby?’ asked Warren.

  Luthra’s face darkened. ‘She knows about Anish’s health problems, and she thinks I’m mad. She reckons that if I’m going to insist on having a child with somebody, then I shouldn’t “limit myself to paddling at the shallow end of the gene pool”, especially if I have to “pay for the privilege”. My sister has never been one to let a person’s feelings get in the way of a witty turn of phrase.’

  Warren gave her a moment to compose herself, before continuing the questioning.

  ‘Are you familiar with the Easy Break Hotel on the A506?’

  Luthra frowned slightly. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s about halfway between Middlesbury and Cambridge.’

  ‘No, Anish and I steered clear of Cambridge.’

  ‘So, you’ve never met Anish in a hotel?’

  She looked surprised. ‘No, of course not. After everything I’ve told you, do you really think Anish and I would be meeting up for … sex? That we were having some sort of affair?’ She sounded incredulous now. ‘Surely, I’ve made it clear, that we were not looking for that sort of relationship.’

  Warren raised his hands. ‘I’m really sorry, it’s my job to ask.’

  He paused, knowing that the next question could well end the discussion. He hoped not, thus far his gut was telling him that Luthra was as innocent as she claimed. But if she didn’t cooperate with him now, the only alternative was a formal statement at the station.

  ‘Can I ask where you were between the evening of Thursday the 24th of November and the following Sunday morning?’

  ‘Wait, am I a suspect?’ she asked, her voice rising slightly. Her shoulders tensed, and he could sense that she was contemplating getting up and leaving.

  ‘I’m just being thorough.’

  Even behind the glasses, he could feel the heat of her glare. He held his breath.

  Eventually, she slumped back down. ‘Yes, I do have an “alibi”.’ Her tone of voice made air quotes unnecessary. ‘I was at home on the Thursday night with Mum, marking books, and then I was teaching all day Friday. I spent the weekend with friends.’ For a brief moment, Warren saw another glimpse of her vulnerable side, ‘But I would appreciate it if you don’t go stomping around my family and friends demanding to know my whereabouts. The questions they ask could be … problematic.’

  ‘I will do my very best to be discreet,’ Warren assured her.

  Luthra wrote down the name of the school she worked at and her home and friends’ addresses. Warren pocketed the piece of paper. He would get someone to check it out. Unfortunately, no matter how discreet his officers were, he suspected that she would face a barrage of questions from her mother.

  ‘Is that all that you need from me?’ she asked. Her tone was still frosty.

  ‘Yes, thank you for your time. I apologise for the intrusion and I’m sorry for your loss.’

  Warren had deliberately delayed the team briefing that morning so that he could feed back his meeting with Latika Luthra.

  ‘It doesn’t sound as though it would be in Latika’s interests to kill Anish before they were married,’ said Richardson. ‘If she wanted to get her hands on any of his inheritance, she’d need to be married to Anish and at the very least pregnant before
Gotam Patel died.’

  ‘Then maybe it wasn’t Latika who was responsible,’ said Sutton. ‘What about her family?’

  ‘I assume that you’re thinking of her sister?’ said Warren. He’d had plenty of time to consider his conversation with Luthra on the drive home.

  ‘Exactly. Did Latika say how much money her mother was left after her father died?’ continued Sutton.

  ‘No, but we can probably find out,’ said Warren.

  ‘Well, assuming it wasn’t a fortune, it’s possible that a trip to the United States for expensive fertility treatment could wipe out the whole lot, including the half that her sister is expecting to inherit one day.’

  ‘Which would certainly be enough motive,’ said Richardson.

  ‘Let’s do a little digging then,’ said Warren. ‘Hutch, organise a team of colleagues from Welwyn to look into Latika Luthra and her family. But remind them to tread carefully where possible; there’s no need to make things more difficult for her than we need to. At the moment, there’s no reason to assume she’s anything more than an innocent party.’

  Moving on, Warren recapped where the investigation was at that moment.

  ‘There’s still no sign of Anish’s clothing or backpack, his car or his mobile phone.’

  ‘Then either the killer has done a really good job of disposing of them, and we’ll never find them,’ said Sutton, ‘or the silly sod has kept them close by and we’ll be able to hang them with them.’

  ‘Well, here’s hoping,’ said Warren. ‘In the meantime, what else have we got?’

  ‘The good news is that we have identified the gym that Anish used, from the logo on his hoodie,’ said Ruskin. ‘Middlesbury Sports and Leisure. Apparently, the gym ordered a job-lot from the same supplier in a single batch and their records show that Anish bought one. They are sending us one over for comparison purposes, should we find his.’

  ‘Good, what else did they have to say?’ asked Warren.

  ‘They confirmed that he was a regular, but not a member; he paid for individual sessions with cash.’

  ‘That explains why I didn’t pick it up on his bank statements,’ said Pymm. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised; the last thing he needed was another monthly direct debit coming out of his account.’

  ‘But where is he getting cash, if he isn’t drawing any out?’ asked Sutton. ‘He must be doing something on the side.’

  Warren turned back to Ruskin. ‘Did he have a routine?’

  ‘The receptionist reckoned he used the fitness suite on a Monday and went swimming on Thursdays; 6.30 to 8.30 early bird sessions both days, and always left in a suit and tie. He can’t remember the exact times, but definitely saw him Thursday morning.’

  ‘Well, he can’t have been that ill if he was swimming Thursday morning,’ said Sutton.

  ‘Do we know if he was especially friendly with anyone?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Staff recognised him,’ replied Ruskin, ‘and one of the lifeguards reckoned he was on nodding terms with some of the other regular swimmers, but he pretty much got in and did his own thing. Probably forty-five minutes; maybe fifty lengths. The good news is that the fitness suite has CCTV. I’ve arranged for someone to pick it up for Mags’ team to look at.’

  ‘Good,’ said Warren. ‘See if they can build up a pattern of normal behaviour. Does he arrive and leave at the same time? Does he always get changed for work? If he deviated from that routine it might be significant. Did he catch the bus or drive? Does he speak to anyone in the fitness suite? Cross-check any faces of interest with the guests at the Easy Break Hotel, his family and those profile pics from Rainbow Hookups.

  ‘We all know the stats, people; most victims are killed by someone that they know. We need to identify everyone in Anish Patel’s life, no matter how inconsequential and determine if they were responsible for his murder.’

  Chapter 17

  It was the first time that Warren had visited the Easy Break Hotel. Standing in the car park, he could hear the constant rush of traffic on the A506, hidden from view by a row of hedges.

  ‘There’s no sign of Anish’s Mercedes, but we know that he entered and exited the hotel via the front entrance,’ said Ruskin, who’d cycled over earlier to avoid the roadworks. ‘Forensics have done a fingertip search but haven’t found anything of note. They’re currently processing all the areas that he is likely to have been but locking down the whole hotel isn’t really an option. The manager is pissed enough as it is.’

  He turned on the spot, facing the hotel’s front again, and gestured towards the security camera above the entrance.

  ‘Fake.’ He turned to his left. ‘Same as the camera over the entrance to the car park. Apparently, they will be replaced when the hotel undergoes a revamp in the spring.’

  ‘Fat lot of use it’ll be to us by then,’ Warren grumbled.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Ruskin. ‘From what I’ve been hearing, the hotel took a real kicking after that food poisoning incident. And with competition from the new Travelodge, they’re really struggling.’

  He glanced upwards. ‘Looks like it’s going to rain, we’d better hurry up.’ He set off towards the right. Warren was just over six feet tall, but he had to push himself to match the young constable’s stride.

  ‘There is a working camera here,’ said Ruskin, as they reached the edge of the building. A painted sign informed them that it was staff only beyond that point. ‘Although it’s not much use to us; it mostly covers this service entrance. Anish doesn’t enter or leave the hotel by this door during his stay.’

  They rounded the corner of the building.

  ‘As you can see, there is an access road along this side of the building. The other side of that hedge is a pavement that leads to the main road. There’s a bus stop just along from the entrance to the car park that picks up passengers heading towards Cambridge from Middlesbury on this side of the road and another for the return on the opposite side. It’s the only stop for about a mile or so each way.’ He pointed to a gap in the hedge. ‘Staff cut through there to get to and from the bus stops.’

  The two men continued walking down the access road.

  Ruskin motioned to the building edge. ‘This is the wall of the breakfast bar.’ They walked a few more paces. ‘And this door is a fire exit.’ The floor around the door was littered with cigarette butts.

  He pointed upwards. ‘That’s a real camera, but it’s broken.’

  ‘How convenient,’ said Warren. ‘How long for?’

  ‘Months at least.’

  They continued walking to the end of the service road, emerging behind the hotel. A half-dozen cars were parked in a line, and three bicycles were locked to a curved metal rail. A yellow hatched box was painted on the tarmac in front of a rolling door.

  ‘Staff parking and deliveries, including the laundry company. There’s just enough room for a small lorry, although the driver has to be pretty good at reversing to get back out.’

  Warren pointed at the corner of the building. ‘Don’t tell me, that’s either broken or fake?’

  ‘No, as it happens, but there’s no movement on it the night of the murder. Apparently, it’s a complete mystery why the camera over the fire exit keeps on conking out. It’s been like it for ages, but they’re waiting for the spring refit to get a new system.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Warren. It was certainly convenient that there was no footage on this side of the building.

  The spots of rain were becoming more frequent, and the cold wind was starting to bite. They made their way back to the main entrance and Ruskin pointed out the camera above the reception desk.

  ‘We’ve managed to retrieve the keycard that Anish used that night. It’s covered in loads of different fingerprints, as you’d expect, but hopefully forensics will find something interesting. We’ve taken exclusionary prints from the cleaning staff, and the couple who were booked into room 201 when we sealed it.’

  ‘How did that go?’ asked Warren. The couple had been rather vocal
about being forced to return to the hotel and move their luggage mid-stay.

  ‘They were pretty annoyed, until we said it was a murder investigation; the wife was taking selfies in front of the police tape the last I heard.’

  To the left of the reception area was a lift. ‘Let me guess, the CCTV is broken,’ sighed Warren as they stepped into the car.

  ‘Nope, fake.’

  ‘Great. They don’t like to make our job easy, do they?’ said Warren as Ruskin punched in the floor number. A slight patina of fingerprint dust remained on the number two and Ruskin grimaced as he wiped his finger on his trousers.

  The lift deposited the two men on the second floor with a loud ‘ding’.

  ‘This is another weird thing about our victim. Apparently, he insisted on always staying in 201,’ said Ruskin, ‘but as you can see, it’s the furthest room from the lift. Guests usually prefer to be closer, so they don’t have to drag their suitcases as far.’

  Warren saw that he was right. The signs on the wall indicated that room 201 was at the far end of the corridor.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t want to be disturbed by the lift coming up and down all night?’ suggested Warren, although he couldn’t say it was something he’d ever considered himself when booking into a hotel.

  ‘Hutch thought that maybe he had a thing about being near the fire exit,’ said Ruskin, as they walked down the corridor. ‘We know that he doesn’t have a problem with lifts, because he used it after checking in.’

  Warren could see that room 201, easily identified by the blue and white police tape and the bored-looking constable hiding his mobile phone, was next to the fire door at the end of the corridor. Directly opposite was 202, where Patel had grudgingly stayed some months before, when 201 was already in use. It too was being processed.

  The scene was currently being examined by forensics, so the two men signed the log and slipped on latex gloves, a paper suit and plastic overshoes before ducking under the tape.